Seraphs of the Emperor’s Judgment

Chapter 161: Soldiers' Assault (1)

Another day had passed. Wearing filthy uniforms stained with dirt, they waited for orders behind the elevated trenches that shielded them from the line of fire.

Situated four kilometers from the landing zone, the soldiers mostly stared blankly at the rough stone walls serving as makeshift barricades. Their experiences on the front lines had long since driven all fear from their bodies.

Many soldiers, functioning like walking corpses, had ceased to believe they were even still alive. Their faces revealed that they had already accepted their impending doom.

Miller, recently promoted to Company Commander, rested his back against the trench wall. Looking at the soldiers who had been selected and designated as elites, he realized that the vast majority of them were completely burnt out.

The Chaplains moved along the ranks, murmuring ceaseless litanies of blessing, offering no other words.

Death waited silently just beyond the trenches, out upon the desiccated earth entirely devoid of moisture, within the kilometers-long bunkers and gun emplacements constructed by the xenos on the opposite side.

The arcs of fire for those weapons were meticulously planned, the zigzagging defensive lines forming a lethal star shape, ready to greet any assault with merciless firepower.

To protect the heart of their fortress moon, the xenos had massed a massive force. This colossal fortification even boasted a large defensive laser array, situated on an outcrop extending from a bunker so it could fire directly through the fortress's own void shields.

So long as this laser array remained operational, the fleet could not directly bombard the fortress. If the fleet could not bombard the fortress, the void shields could not be depleted.

And if the void shields could not be depleted, the xenos were, without a doubt, entirely safe.Therefore, those meat-grinder fortifications had to be breached via infantry assault.

The 2413th Infantry Regiment had already attempted to do just that. They had launched an assault two days prior, failing completely and leaving behind only a vast amount of blood and corpses.

The soldiers were all too aware of these facts. If they threw themselves forward, their fate would be identical.

They averted their gazes from the distant defensive laser array projecting lethal firepower at the orbiting starships, instead focusing their attention on their superior officers—as if the noble bloodlines of those officers could somehow deflect the xenos' firepower.

However, the officers were just as terrified as the lowly soldiers. Their composed demeanors were nothing more than an act, a mask plastered across their faces.

Both soldiers and officers alike knew this was simply how things were. They shared an unspoken, unacknowledged fear, regardless of whether they were of high birth or common origins.

When they had boarded the transport ships and bid farewell to their families, no one had anticipated a situation like this.

Yet now, they had to march directly into the maw of death.

Those officers who might never have spared the soldiers a second glance back in the encampments were now constantly looking over their shoulders, inspecting the men under their command again and again.

Their anxiety had intensified; they worried not only about the broader war effort but also about their own personal fates.

Amidst this oppressive atmosphere, Miller walked through the deathly silent trench with a lho-stick clenched in his teeth.

Compared to his subordinates, the new Company Commander possessed several advantages.

Firstly, he boasted an incredibly robust physique. Without exaggeration, he stood a full head taller than the average soldier.

Secondly, even after combat, his uniform remained significantly cleaner than his peers'. His men viewed this as proof of his natural leadership, which meant he only needed to concern himself with his own anxieties.

The front lines were utterly quiet. The regimental standard, planted in the dirt, flapped in the biting wind.

The vox channels were silent, as if absolutely nothing was happening.

Perhaps everyone had simply grown accustomed to it. Since making landfall a week ago, every single day had played out in exactly the same way.

Every day, the artillery barrages commenced at the exact same hour.

Every day, the soldiers departed their encampments and arrived at the trenches.

Every day, they went over the top, contesting the blood-soaked earth with their enemies, meter by agonizing meter.

Finally, when the two sides separated like exhausted bulls, they would retreat back to their respective lines until the next numerical morning arrived.

However, everyone knew that Vorenus V had no morning; it was trapped in a perpetual, sallow twilight.

ZAAAAAAP—!

A piercing screech tore through the sky. The xenos' laser array had activated, signaling that the time for the two sides to clash once more had arrived.

Every ten minutes, the air would be ripped apart by artificial thunder as the high-energy weapons discharged thermal beams to strike at the orbiting vessels.

Miller reached for his sidearm, using his thumb to flip open the holster as the dried mud flaked off his weapon.

Following the prolonged bombardments, this moonlet had been reduced to a filthy wasteland; it was fundamentally impossible to keep anything clean.

The enemy opening fire marked the commencement of the day's operations.

In retaliation, the human artillery opened up, the simultaneous roar of countless guns leading the Lieutenant to believe the orbital bombardment hadn't yet ceased.

"Maintain your composure, Lieutenant. If you cannot inspire your men, then you must draw inspiration from them."

Suddenly, a white-gloved hand—a rarity practically unseen in this mud-choked warzone—grasped Miller by the shoulder.

"In the eyes of the Emperor, war and fear render all men equal, while the bonds of camaraderie are a gift He bestows upon those who serve Him."

Commissar Yarrick appeared beside Miller right on cue, attempting to offer comfort, despite Miller knowing full well this man would shoot him dead for the slightest display of cowardice.

This man possessed a fanaticism that was carved into his very bones, a conviction that was fundamentally unshakable.

"I hope they can get used to it."

Miller muttered. He cast a glance at the Commissar's immaculate uniform, gleaming from the tip of his cap to his polished boots, wondering how on earth the man managed to keep his gear so spotless.

Yarrick released his grip.

"Eager to throw yourself into the fray? Excellent. I commend your courage. Your desire to close in with the enemy and engage them in battle is a testament to your honor."

The young Commissar nodded in approval. Miller didn't bother telling him it was merely exhaustion from the constant fear, rather than courage, that drove him to want to get it all over with.

The regimental Chaplain and his Acolytes approached Miller. The bitter incense wafting from their censers helped mask the stench of rotting corpses.

The Chaplain began his prayers, anointing everyone's weapons with sacred oils.

With half the regiment gathered here, Miller murmured prayers alongside the others throughout the process, until the Chaplain concluded his blessing and moved on.

Suddenly, a ripple of movement traveled down the ranks from the front. The soldiers shifted their formations and turned their heads.

"It appears the men are ready."

Yarrick said, staring straight ahead.

"Attention!"

Miller addressed his command squad. Beside him stood the messenger and the Executive Officer—both seasoned veterans who had also been recently promoted.

The messenger carried a long-range vox-caster, while the XO shouldered a flamer.

The final member of the command squad was the medic. Word was he came from a noble family and was an actual, certified physician, unlike the damn veterinarian from Miller's previous company.

Miller had no idea how someone like that ended up assigned to a lowly infantry regiment like the 4337th.

Soon, the crackle of static emanated from the vox-caster.

"Vox-link established."

The messenger stated. He and Miller exchanged a glance.

"Excellent. Today's orders will be coming down shortly. Men, check your weapons!"

To most of the soldiers, Miller's voice merely sounded like empty bluster, for the orders were essentially the same every single day.